~Heading to the bar for another overpriced vodka in a ridiculously overcrowded London pub, Elle saw no alternative to getting through the throng without getting hands on. To get past a tall dark-haired fellow who stood with his back to her, she gingerly put her hands on his hips and squeezed past him.~
Sorry about that, itís a bit tight in here tonight.
~she gave him an innocent smile as she moved away~ You were successful in stealing $2,427.00 from Victor Lockheed.

Her stopped a moment before continuing to go up the the man. Had already Tried his hand at this finding a coven thing that was explain to him a good thing for one his size. Breathing out with his Batman stuffy tucked under his arm, the other reached and tugged at his jacket. "Umm, hello. Are your Mr Victor?" He turns his head to look way up at him. "If so do you have any openings in your home that would fit one such as myself?"

FEB
I'm going to shove a suit of armor up your ass if you don't get to the door right now.

Upon opening it, Victor would find two things. The first, a pretty young thing looking for all the world nervous. It is clear that she isn't sure she should be here, particularly dressed as a skimpy elf. It is also particularly clear that she isn't a fan of what she brings with her.

Zaynah's back straightened at Victor's words, a gentle nod of her head breaking the silence with a soft jingle of coins and hollow cowrie shells. "I did.. and you have yet to disappoint, Victor."

The Djinn stepped back from the Master of Seventh Circle, from his personal space. She would need to work on that, the invading of people's personal boundaries. She would learn.. eventually. "Thank you for the wonderful show.. hopefully soon I will be witness to it again." Jadeite irises, crackled stone in deep sockets, stared curiously at the male; her chin held high whilst appraising him. Yes, this dark heart, might have her respect.

Mercurial eyes of jadeite and emerald watched in mute fascination as the male promised then delivered the random acts of violence she had so wished for. Like a caged tiger waiting to be freed, Victor.. once let loose upon the streets of London.. attacked a woman with such ferocity it sent a shiver through the Djinn's spine. His rage was unmatched by another. Much to the joy of the Unnamed. And she would continue to urge him on in his expressing of said rage.

You witnessed Victor Lockheed attack Eloise Buchanan!

"I would like to say, Vic-tor.." Zaynah crooned softly against the man's ear after he was done, lissome fingers gently caressing taut shoulders. "It is certainly a pleasure to watch you.. work."

-wanders by the man-
-recognises his scent from some of Mackenzie's belongings-
-swings cane wide.. and hard-
-cracks his shin.. purposely-
-smiles sweetly.. all neat white teeth- M'apologies..
-continues on, well worn rage on her face-

A derisive smile curls the corners of rubied pout. This is what she loves about this man. He always appears ready to display extreme violence. He is rage incarnate and it suits him. "No, no one in particular.." the Djinn really had no one in mind. "Just random acts of violence is all I request."

Gray had been placed in a position that left him feeling less than comfortable. Letters. He has sealed letters, and the man knows that each one contains Spring's last words. He knows she has bequeathed items to these people, and the only way to find out what goes where is to read them. But he can't.

Slowly, he would begin to send them out, his own personal notes tucked into the FedEx envelopes with Springs sealed last words. He can only imagine what might be inside, but he makes it clear that each recipient could reach out to him at the number provided to collect whatever was left to them. Never mind, how he managed to find contact information.

Jadeite eyes sweep across the room, watch as Victor places a book upon the shelf. He is still unpacking? She forgets how difficult it is to be a mortal, unable to simply wave a hand to straighten a room.. amongst other things. Raven brows furrow and she steps further into the man's room inspecting him. Questions forgotten, she instead offers her help, without strings attached.

A right, a left, third door on the left. The unusual mortal was kind enough to direct a very lost Djinn towards the owner of the Manor. She will have to think of ways to thank him later. Powerful steps lead the Unnamed to Victor's room in a cacophony of soprano and tenors as coins and cowrie shells clash. Without hesitation, personal boundaries be damned, Zaynah simply pushes the large doors open and marches in. "Vic-tor.. I have questions."

She heard it far before she saw it. The subtle inhales and exhales, flesh pounding into flesh, and one heartbeat jumping sporadically around inside someoneís chest. This was certainly a fight and the sadistic nature of Iriaís being drew her towards the noise on the dimly lit street. She round the corner and watched as the spectacle unfolded before her, excitement sparking her nerves on fire. There was clearly an aggressor, and Iria couldnít pull her eyes away. She wanted to see how long this would last, would someone die? Would sweet, glorious, and delicious blood be shed upon the pavement? She wanted to call out and urge them to fight harder, but it seemed her intrusion was known because as soon as she wanted more, it was over. One man lay on the ground in rather terrible shape but death didnít seem to be an immediate threat to the man.

ďWell now, wasnít that just exciting.Ē Her eyes narrowed in on the champion and a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

Watches as he admired his own mug. One slender brow would raise as he'd suggest her to enter Mackenzie's office. "Don't let the face fool you. I'm not as naive as I look." Took the poster back. "I'm sure I could make it in her office.." Smirked. "..but I enjoy my head where it is."

What Mackenzie walks in on is a sight. Not nearly as hungry as Victor, for she would be damned if she let something like a fake serial killer dampen a good time, she is still insatiable. What gets her is the fact that they are blissfully alone to their own devices, and without the little lost puppy of a b-tch for once.

"You greedy b-stard."

Licking her bottom lip, she steps forward, barely pulling off her tiny dress before climbing into the water and placing herself precariously between Victor and dessert.

"Vic," Mackenzie mumbles for attention from where she stands, the limp body that had been her dinner at her feet. She says his name again, this time clear. After a moment's wait, she gives it one last shot. This time, she is on the move, looking for the man. "F-ck sake. Victor!"

He's so lucky she likes him. More than likes him. She word-that-shouldn't-be-easily-used him. Still. Now she's been called on the carpet, and called out. "Grand. But. I'm hungry. So, can we go ruin someones life? We'll call it a stag party."

One more smirk up at the man, one more kiss, and she is tucking her phone into her back pocket and sauntering toward the door.

He laughs. She stares. A cool gaze is set upon him, unwavering, that sh-tty little smirk ever present on her face. And, as he begins to sling his own sh-t, she lets out a laugh of her own. "Hysterics? That's an exaggeration, Tan."

Still, this isn't what she had expected while conducting her little experiment. Mackenzie expected Victor to have reasons to not go through with it. She did believe that it had been a bluff, meant to appease her youthful desires. Narrowing her eyes, she glances him over.

Now she is the one in the sh-tty situation. Not him. Or, maybe he is bluffing. Maybe Victor Lockheed is bluffing her bluff. There would be no chances taken, and no prisoners taken. Not this time. They say you can't bullsh-t a bullsh-tter, and yet. Here she is. "You're right. You're absolutely right, Tan."

And, with a low breath of defeat, she makes her final bluff. "I lied. The Priest will come to us. Not the other way around."

"Mhmm. Severe. Lethal, almost. So many consonants. It just rolls off the tongue." A grin, pressing her to his shoulder before pulling away. She paces across the room with a sure gait, fingers wrapping around the cellular that rests upon a table before bringing it up.

She is determined to get a rise out of him. Bound to do so. His phone would go off, only after she is done fussing with her own.

Group Message
Be at Saint Patrick's Cathedral tomorrow at 10pm.
The shrews have been tamed.

"Essentially?" He clearly is in a state of denial, as it is fairly obvious that he is just that. Still, she would let him have it, letting out a soft laugh of amused reflection. A tilt of her head, blue eyes shut away from the world, and a full smile are present as she enjoys her position of powerless power. "You probably should have just led with that, Tan."

Leaning back into him, she tilts her head back. "Right. Well. I suppose we should send our Save the Dates, then. How does tomorrow sound?"

She might be playing him. She might not. Mackenzie does her best to keep from giving away her position. Spinning around within his grasp, she briefly presses her lips to his before raising a brow. "Obviously, it'll need to be a Catholic ceremony. You understand, of course."

"Interesting," she muses, staring at him with a wicked smirk. "But... emotional baggage and legal stuff is hardly what my client might think to be worth it. Especially when they are already filthy f-cking rich in all of the above."

Leaning forward, she swipes the zippo, procuring a flame and lighting up one of his cigarettes. A sideways glance is given, and she pretends to mull his question over. "That is privileged information. Though you may need to drink more anyway."

Today is her day, and there is no wasting it. Mackenzie requires a certain amount of just about anything to get any sort of feeling, but the feat is astronomical and near impossible... just for a minute's buzz. Even still, the feeling of warm liquor coating her throat and temporarily heating her from the inside, out would never get old.

"Tan," Mackenzie chirps, her uplifted mood rare. The woman sidles up to the man, the neck of her bottle of whiskey firmly within her grasp, and leans up to him with a wicked little grin. "Is there an English B-stard's day?"

Mackenzie glances sideways at Victor, phone in hand. She knows full well he very well may have been reading over her shoulder as she poked the bear... but still, she offers the screen officially. "...Can't we just kill him and be done with it?"

"Well, without the protective walls of the catacombs, you'd have to go public with your Chippendale performance. And despite hardly knowing you at all, I just don't think you have it in you to be so bold. I have all the notes we need to get the party started but the question is...do you have the balls?"

*arches brow* Of course it would not be because of your looks, why, you do not even have a beard. But this face of mine, it could launch a thousand ships. And my bite, suffice to say, could enjoy all the throats on said crafts.

Legendary? Darling, I prefer monstrously immortal. I will leave the legends and fairytales to the children. *toothy grin*

"Uh huh. And I suppose that is just your form of a victory dance, yea?" With that, she glances over her shoulder at the slumped form not far from them. And, once his crime is clearly known, she slips a hand into his back pocket with a gentle tap as she claims her real estate.

Mackenzie smirks at the message, glancing up from where she sits on the couch. Burrowing herself deeper into the corner, she begins her reply and attaches to it a picture of a body wrapped in trash bags, secured by duct tape. Evidence of a steady drip of blood is evident.

Well, f-ck. She stares down at the mess of a girl held hostage by Victor, obviously terrorized and likely soon dead. She knows it, too. Mackenzie can see it written all over her blotchy face. It makes her miss doing these things with him. Torturing, killing for the sheer thrill of it, and all that ever came after it.

"Looks like Vic might be visiting," she muses aloud, sure that Jameson would hear here even through the pain.

She rolls her eyes. Mackenzie knows he's being honest, and she also knows it is meant to be a dig considering their current state (hint: there is no state). She snaps a picture. Jameson Orlav, on the ground howling in pain as he claws at his stomach. There is a distinct change to his usual appearance, agony aside, and the bloodstained, near white hair splayed on the edge of the picture might be a good indication.

Victor
Funny. I have a similar situation, Tan.
[IMG Attachment Received]

"Well good luck with whatever endeavors brought you back here. Quite a bit has changed in the past few months....well years really."

Elisa swept loose hairs away from her face, and offered a soft smile. Not one to hide emotions, it was clear in her eyes that she had something more to say. Curiosity generally led the poor girl to stick her foot in her mouth...and often places equally unappealing.

"Welcome back....please stay this time, Mr. Lockheed and if you need a few bucks for plane fare. I am good for the return flight as well. Remember Cancun if you can't log in.. Or I will make sure your bum is packed off in style." Etaine smiled at the new not so new comer and disappears into the night.

The confusion was distinct in his facial expression, and the regret was clear in her eyes. This wasn't going to be an easy explanation, and it certainly wasn't a short one. It had been well over a year and a half since Elisa's death and only a couple weeks since her return. There had been many faces he had surely met in his time here, but hers was not one of them.

"No, I'm afraid not. You may not have known her either, but I feel like you might have at least known of her. My sister's name was Brenna. She was in After Dark. I'm an old friend of Mackenzie's. I haven't been around in a while."

Elisa had been gone for quite some time. And in that time she had missed much. This man would not know her name, but he might know her sister. Even so, she felt the need to reach out. "Welcome back, Mr. Lockheed."